Promise Me
by The Grasshopper
Summary: Raoul must fulfill a rather painful promise and face Erik after Christine's death. (Very unlike my other story!)
1. The Letter

"There has to be some mistake."   
  
A thin, virtually translucent letter shook in Raoul de Chagny's grip, though his eyes continued to remain challengingly on the solemn man before him. "She wasn't going to Paris…she was to return here directly."   
  
The pale, Swedish policeman shook his head just once. In his eyes there was the utmost pity. He spoke French haltingly and with a thick accent, but his eyes bore right back into Raoul's. "Monsieur de Chagny, your family crest was identified."   
  
"No."  
  
The policeman shook his head again as Raoul tried to hand the Death letter back to him. "I am very sorry…"   
  
Raoul's gaze lowered to the paper in a vain hope…he did not want to see those final words again.   
  
But they stared up at him from the page in elegant script, mocking…laughing at him…   
  
_Poor Raoul! He had come so far only to lose her once more!_   
  
The policeman replaced his hat. For him it was already over. He had shown his respect for the dead, and now he could return to his own life. The world outside was bright with time and motion, and it was a world separate from darkness…from this dreadful business…from Death and anguish and the shadows of mourning…   
  
Once it had been so simple.   
  
Raoul could not return to that world so easily anymore. He could only feel envy for this man…for his effortless happiness…  
  
As the door finally closed Raoul sank into the chair by the window. His fist curled slowly around the paper until it was a small ball in the palm of his hand…and for a moment he could pretend that it no longer existed. He waited several moments and listened to the silence of the house…to the little noises that were so trivial…it didn't matter… nothing mattered.

But Christine would never hear these noises again.   
  
Raoul sobbed, quietly, while the clock in the corridor struck seven o'clock.

* * *

"What are you doing? You're supposed to be packing her things! You're so lazy, Agnes, I don't know why Monsieur le Vicomte bothered to hire you at all!"   
  
"I'm hurrying!" A tiny blond maid scurried into the bedroom and dropped several scarves into a suitcase.   
  
"If you fold them, you can fit far more than that!"   
  
"All _right!_" Agnes huffed and started daintily folding each handkerchief, making faces at Hilda's back. A lovely crimson silk piece caught her eye, and she briefly considered slipping it inside of her blouse…   
  
Hilda was suddenly watching her. Glaring, in fact. "Don't even think about it. It's bad luck to steal from the dead."  
  
16-year-old Agnes shrieked and the scarf flew back into the suitcase. She shut it with a snap, blinking her heavy lidded green eyes. "_Oh!_ Who died?"   
  
"Mademoiselle Christine." The older woman narrowed her eyes. "Don't you work here?"   
  
Blinking more, Agnes seemed to consider this. "I wondered where she'd gone. I thought that she was still visiting her friend…"   
  
"Oh, no, she was scheduled to be back days ago..."  
  
"Well, I've been busy!"   
  
Hilda snorted and picked up a few stray scarves that Agnes had dropped accidentally. Shuffling her heavy frame to the other side of the room, she muttered indiscernible things under her breath.  
  
"What? What are you saying?" Agnes frowned and pulled a lace shawl between her fingers. "And why are we packing all of these things if she's dead, anyway? Is he sending them somewhere?"   
  
For the second time after learning of her mistresses' death, Hilda's tone was very sad…and disgusted by Agnes' lack of compassion. "Yes. It looks as though your services will no longer be needed…thank Heavens. He wants her to be dressed for cold weather."  
  
Agnes stood and dropped the lace shawl, furious by the sudden dismissal. "Excuse me? Where is he taking her?"   
  
"Paris."

* * *

A dark brougham made its way through the murky streets of Paris, and a light whistle was heard as it clattered to a final stop. Luminous, beautiful horses clopped impatiently, but the driver held the reins still and kept them from moving even mere inches.   
  
The Paris Opera loomed before him as Raoul de Chagny stepped out and drew a careful breath. The building was shadowed almost entirely as several lamplights near the front had burnt out and not yet been replaced. Shaking a bit, he took off his hat…and then changed his mind and replaced it again.   
  
Nearly burning a hole in his pocket was a key…the Rue Scribe entrance…and the one that he already knew well. It was precisely where he had escaped that fateful night with Christine in tow…as she sobbed and hardly noticed that she had ripped the lace off the ends of her gown. That gown now lay in a dutifully locked trunk in her old room at his estate. Raoul knew better than to mention it again, and neither of them acknowledged its existence.   
  
But at this moment Raoul stood, frozen in time, and stared up at the magnificent structure with an odd feeling. If Erik was dead, as he was almost certain that he was, then Raoul had…in a way…lost to him. It was deceptive to say that he'd won Christine if, in the end, she had only returned to her Angel.   
  
Even as Raoul thought with shameful and bitter revenge that it was far more likely the man called Erik was burning in Hell.   
  
And not for the first time he wondered why he was here. The idea was mad…to say the least, and could very well be suicide. The Phantom of the Opera hated him like no other, and here he was…practically tromping down into his domain without even Christine as his protection. If only Christine had not made him promise…and with such an eerie fashion… Raoul had been made to wonder if perhaps she sensed her approaching demise. He could now still hear her soft plea…   
  
_"Raoul…you must promise me…that should anything happen to me… He must know."   
  
Raoul had, at this point, ceased to ask who "he" was. "I promise, Christine… I will tell him…"   
  
"Not just tell him…he must see—"  
  
"Yes, yes, I promise…" Raoul had replied, impatiently. He didn't want to talk about that. He never wanted to talk about it… the possibility he hated more than anything else._   
  
And yet he knew that it could be no other way… So he kept his promise, and now Raoul stood in the cold and the beginning of misty rain as he stared up at the object of many a nightmare.   
  
Lightning flashed, and a shadow moved… Raoul felt a sharp tingle run down his spine. A strange sense of déjà vu began to nag at the back of his mind, and he could not help but think again about whether or not this was a very good idea…  
  
But Erik must know. Raoul had promised her… Even if it meant risking his life to the Phantom's wrath. Raoul felt cold at the idea of explaining to him that Christine had died. Erik had entrusted her to him...and now she was dead. He should have been with her...if the world was righteous, Raoul would have died alongside his sweetheart, and would not be standing here right now. Though he imagined it was quite possible that he could be joining Christine very soon, and the idea did not phase him. He did not fear Death as he did before. The idea was almost comforting. Because after this...he would have nothing. The promise was all that was left of his life...now meaningless without his Christine...  
  
Raoul could not think of that now. No...he had stalled long enough, and it needed to be done.   
  
Without further hesitation, the still very young Vicomte approached the Rue Scribe entrance, to seek out Christine's beloved Angel of Music.   
  
A man he only knew as Erik…and the Angel of Death. 


	2. The Visit

**Author's Note:   
  
Hii. I didn't say anything at the previous chapter, but here I am again… I'm doing this story mostly for the fun of it, so I'm not expecting great reviews or a good number of them…I'm not sure how long this'll be, probably not long, I'm just having fun. So. Please review if you want to, I'd really like it… Oh. And I do NOT consider this a Mary-Sue type thing, even if it is cliche. So please don't accuse me. Thanks.**

* * *

The alarm was going off.   
  
It was a dull hum at first…and then became a persistent ring that began as an annoyance and grew to be unbearable. The alarm had been turned off for so long that the noise was only vaguely recognizable and foreign to the heavy air around the lake. It had not known sound since the meticulous destruction of Erik's home, and there was not even the hint of an echo. Only the piercing, high-pitched whistle…continuous…never-altering in it's tonal center…deafening…   
  
But time had never been a concept for Erik, or at least not one of much importance. He survived now only because Christine wanted him to. It was her last request of him, and something that he found difficult to refuse and yet so difficult to keep… His home was nearly in ruins. The piano stood intact, but unplayed… and covered in dust. His violin was somewhere in another room…buried among old possessions and carefully shaped glass from her mirrors…facing each other to make odd, small patterns…like a miniature torture chamber…  
  
This amused him.  
  
Erik had not played for nearly six years. Occasionally…and very distantly…he would hear music from above. He could almost pretend that Christine was singing during those times, but he knew her voice too well and knew that it wasn't true…no matter how far away it was…he could never pretend, or he would lose his mind. If any part of it remained…  
  
"Erik!"   
  
The voice came so suddenly that it took a moment for him to realize whose voice it was. Never in any of Erik's half dreams and thoughts had he imagined the Vicomte's voice…and yet it came again, clearer than before: _"Erik!"  
_  
Slowly, Erik rose, and with no particular urgency he left his home on the lake. A slight mist was rising up from the water, but it barely penetrated the darkness.   
  
Not that Erik had a problem seeing in the dark.   
  
The confusion of hearing Raoul's voice instead of Christine's did not deter him for very long. No…he imagined that Christine had forgotten something…or at the very worst she was ill and needed him… though he doubted that. It had to be something of grave importance if she had risked sending Raoul…   
  
The amount of time that had passed was still not occurring to him. It wasn't important…and yet Erik found this to be an extraordinary opportunity. Before he allowed Raoul to go, but now it would be a question of whether he would be able to resist the temptation again…   
  
Before the boy could open his mouth to call once more, Erik interjected.   
  
"You dare to speak my name?"   
  
Raoul visibly jumped and turned towards Erik's voice. His expression was defiant, but his tone was very soft. "I have only come on Christine's behalf…please…"   
  
Something in her name…the sound of it spoken aloud…changed something. "Christine…" For only a moment he allowed Raoul to see his eyes in the darkness, two small flashes of yellow light. "Speak your piece and be done with it."  
  
The look in Raoul's gaze was tired, and for a few moments Erik finally did wonder how many years could possibly have passed.   
  
It took the Vicomte several moments to answer, but finally the words came; strangled and weak: "She is dead, monsieur…"   
  
Something…the same something that had whispered her name to him…now snapped. Without warning, Erik lunged and grabbed Raoul around the neck. His fingers were tight around his throat as he pushed Raoul back against the cellar wall, mercilessly…and his voice was filled with deadly rage as his grip tightened more and more... "No…"  
  
Gasping for breath, Raoul spoke as quickly as he could. Oddly, he did not struggle…he did not appear to have the heart. "It was an accident…she was returning from Perros…the carriage…it overturned…on the bridge…"   
  
Furiously, Erik pushed him away with such violence that he fell hard on the stone floor.   
  
"Wait…" Raoul wheezed once he caught a semblance of breath, and held up one hand to try to stop him.   
  
Erik ignored him. The infamous lasso was in his hand as he approached the terrified Vicomte leisurely…and with obvious intentions…  
  
"There is something else…"   
  
Directly above him now, Erik finally stopped. There was no emotion in his eyes as they stared coldly down. But he did not move. "What else."   
  
Raoul was not a simple man. He knew that if he did not provide a good explanation that there was a good chance of him being dead within seconds. "I am being called away…Christine…Christine made me promise to do this. I brought you something that she wanted to give to you…should anything happen to her…If you come up to the streets with me--"   
  
Erik laughed. "Do you think me a fool? I will go nowhere with you." Death…he would embrace…but not at the Vicomte's hand. If this was a trap…_Christine_…  
  
"All right…then…I will go up and fetch it…and return directly."   
  
There was hollowness in his voice as Erik answered…emptiness. He didn't care. If Raoul brought down the police with him then he would wait for it, and welcome the bullets. "Fine. Get up."   
  
Raoul stumbled to his feet, rubbed his neck, and watched Erik warily. He did not waste another moment, but set off for the Rue Scribe gates at a run. There were ways of getting to the surface without crossing the lake, but Erik did not bother telling him this…and only watched, indifferently, as Raoul swam back across.   
  
He did not think of Christine.   
  
Within fifteen minutes the infernal boy was calling for him from the other side of the lake, and Erik stood before him in less than a minute, startling Raoul so badly that he nearly fell over backwards.   
  
It took Erik a moment to realize that he was now holding something wrapped in blankets...so thickly that the form wasn't even tangible. "What is this?"  
  
Able to see his enemy now, Raoul met his eyes, almost as if daring him to make another attack. "Christine's daughter…Catherine…"   
  
Erik hardly looked, but was beginning to grow suspicious again. "Why would you bring her here?"  
  
"Christine made me promise…"  
  
Again, Erik laughed, and it was not a pleasant sound. "She made you promise to leave your child with me? Here?"   
  
"She is not mine!" Raoul yelled, irritably, and pulled the blanket back enough for Erik to see the girl's face. It was pale and smooth, but dark hair obscured the rest of her features. She appeared to be deeply asleep, or at least enough to not be roused by Raoul's thoughtless shouting.  
  
A long silence came between the two of them. Erik did not speak, but his lack of perceptible emotion made Raoul even angrier. He had always hoped to be assured that it wasn't possible…that this could not possibly be the child of Christine and...and _Erik_…   
  
Raoul's hand shook as he replaced the cloth, in fear of giving the tiny girl a chill. "Are you satisfied now?"   
  
After another lengthy pause, Erik finally spoke. Appearing unaffected by any of this, his reply was icy, calm, and with the silent threat that Raoul would always be familiar with. "I will leave you an address. If you fail to send her there, I will find you."   
  
And then he was gone. 


End file.
